


Heroes For Hire: The Documentary

by psylocke



Category: Heroes For Hire (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Other, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psylocke/pseuds/psylocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misty Knight is convinced to run a new incarnation of her Heroes for Hire team. Only this time, she'll have cameras following her - and her allies' - every step. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes For Hire: The Documentary

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of dubbed this The Office meets Parks and Rec meets Brooklyn 99. For every funny moment, there's some serious. For every conflict, there's lighthearted shenanigans. The format is written as a quasi-script, meant to evoke the documentary feel of a film, but the action panels of a comic book. I'll be posting new stories intermittently - this first storyline has three chapters to it, and from there it all depends on how much the writing gets away from the planning.
> 
> I don't often take requests in fics, but - if there's a character you'd like to see, be they on the team, as a guest star, or what have you, let me know. Because this is comics, the roster can change on a whim. And while I've got a fairly long list of people I want to show up, more would be amazing.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

>   
> **??? (voice-over):** Here’s the thing——

**HEROES FOR HIRE HEADQUARTERS,**  
 **WEST HARLEM, NEW YORK. 6:39 PM.**  
  
It’s a gray building. Drab. Derelict. The sort of place one doesn’t choose to visit, instead is forced to attend, be it out of obligation or necessity. It stands on the corner of street block in a neighbourhood that has clearly seen better days. The streets are littered with debris, pot holes, and poverty. The first floor windows are smashed in, covered with two-by-fours and wooden sheets. It’s the second story that is more interesting, a large ‘H’ screen printed on a faded, dusty glass pane.

Inside, amid the yellowing white walls and the torn-down cubicles in some 90s attempt to ‘tear down the divides’ and make the whole place open concept, is MERCEDES KNIGHT. She sits on a high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her hair is up in its trademark, tight-curled afro, and her golden bionic hand is draped on her lap, each finger digging, in turn, to her thigh. 

>   
> **MISTY (video diary):** ——when I was first approached to do this, I thought it was a damn stupid idea. Still do. Hell, I nearly knocked Luke on his ass when he asked me to bring the team back together. This? This was unexpected.

She shifts in her seat, a small smile forming on her lips. Somebody to her left hands her a piece of paper, and she distracts herself momentarily in reading it, her lips mouthing each individual word - 'YOU. COULD. STAND. TO. BE. A. LITTLE. MORE. EXCITED.' She glances back up, a quiet laugh barely escaping her lips.

>   
> **MISTY (v.d., cont.):** That's not me. I'm not about to sell you some grade-A bullshit. Do you remember the last time we had a superhuman reality show? A whole lot of people got hurt, the whole world nearly burned in the wake of some grown-ass-mans' egos. Wasn't pretty. They were in it for the fame, though. I'm not. Don't want fame.

There's a long, quiet pause as Misty's brow furrows. She turns her head to the side, clearly showing off her clenched jaw. Her fingers curl into the red leather of her pants, and she quickly gets to her feet without so much as a word. She half runs, half jogs, towards a dangling phone being offered to her outstretched hand.

>   
> **MISTY:** We can be en route in five minutes. Ma'am. Ma'am, I'm going to need to ask you to stay calm. Everything's going to be okay. We'll be there soon. Keep breathing. You're gonna be fine.

All of five seconds passes between Misty hanging up the phone and dialing it once again. She taps her foot impatiently, unwilling to wait. Her metal fingers flex out of habit, curling and bending and showing the - stress? Anxiety? Excitement? It's hard to tell, exactly, what she's feeling.

Finally, she gets her answer. The line goes live.

The show's about to begin.

>   
> **MISTY:** Hero — are you for hire tonight?

  
& & &

  
 **PULLMAN RESIDENCE,**  
 **BRONX, NEW YORK. 7:21 PM.**

  
Sirens echo down the streets of New York City - not a cop, but the next best thing. The Heroes for Hire are on their way to help a person in need. All for a small fee, of course. Their mission statement is pretty clear: we'll do anything the police department can't.

Nobody knows better than Misty Knight how invaluable of a service that is: she's a veteran cop, herself. A decade of working on the force, another decade of working on the streets, she's one of the most hardened soldiers in the world, but she's still a sucker for a smile or a crying child. Were it not for those NYPD connections, she might have gotten pulled over for having sirens attached to her Oldsmobile.

As it was, most people got out of her way. She likes it better that way.

The little car is crammed with people - in addition to Misty herself, pedal to the metal and window rolled down to feel the breeze in her hair, there are two members of the camera crew, another Hero for Hire - DANIELLE MOONSTAR - and her blond PERSONAL ASSISTANT, a young, nondescript, rather polite boy who up until now had kept his opinions to himself.

Now, though, his head is out the window and he's hollering.

Kid lives for speed.

Dani Moonstar is the total opposite. She looks like she's going to be sick.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** So - augh - what are we dealing with here, Mist?

>   
> **MISTY:** ( _without looking back_ ) Teenage runaway. Developed mutant powers, nearly took out an entire city block - she's trying to hide. Parents think if the cops get involved, they're gonna lose their little girl.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** Isn't this more of a job for the X-Men? Helping mutant kids is their whole M.O. Trust me. I know better than most.

>   
> **MISTY:** The X-Men are too busy fighting their own internal squabbles to care about one little girl from the Bronx——

Dani narrows her eyes, then lets out a quick nod.

>   
> **DANIELLE (video diary):** I was one of the New Mutants, the second group of students Charles Xavier took in under his wing. Acted as chief, leader, mother, caregiver, scolder. Then I lost my mutant powers. Now, I guess you could call me a... freelance do-gooder.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** After we track her down, I can call some of my contacts. Shan or Kitty or Hank. Somebody can get off their ass and help her out.

>   
> **MISTY:** We're not turning her over to the X-Men without her consent. Understood?

Before she can give an answer, the car skids to a halt.

>   
> **MISTY:** Dani, with me. Tom, stay with the film crew. Make sure they don't walk in hot.

>   
> **TOM:** Got it, boss.

Danielle climbs over the production staff, cracking her knuckles and shaking her head, still coming down from the rush of adrenaline that came with Misty's driving. She promptly joins her captain at the door of the concerned parents, huddled together to keep from collapsing under the strain of losing a daughter. A pain that Danielle knows all too well. She offers a hand out to MRS. PULLMAN, trying to smile, as Misty offers words of comfort.

>   
> **MISTY:** ——we promise we'll bring Julie home safe.

>   
> **DANIELLE (v.d., cont.):** When I lost my powers, I felt... I felt useless. Like I no longer belonged with the people who'd become, in so many ways, my family. I decided to forge my own path, tried to prove to myself that my usefulness didn't stop because my powers did.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** I've got experience with tracking. Finding people was kind of my specialty for a while. She couldn't be in better hands.

They are brought into the girl's room, pretty typical for a child her age. Posters of her favourite bands, movies, and athletes lined the walls. She's a tennis player, and you can't go more than a few steps without Rafael Nadal or Jo-Wilfred Tsonga staring you in the face. The far window is open, a large tree branch nearly entering in through the room.

>   
> **MISTY:** She's neat. At this age, my room was all clothes on the floor, east coast rap, and 'caution: keep out' signs.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** You should've seen my room at Xavier's.

>   
> **MISTY:** Chaos?

>   
> **DANIELLE:** More than.

Misty flashes a small smile, thumbing through some papers that sat askew on the girl's desk. Dani, however, focuses more on the window. 

> **DANIELLE:** She climbed through here. You can see the boot scuffs. Probably rehearsed it, does it often. Which means she probably has a regular route out. Make sure mom and dad don't hear.

Before Misty could answer, Dani was already climbing out the window. She keeps her balance perfectly, body held close together as she edges along the branch, her fingers curled, catching her fall as she hops from the ledge, down to the ground.

>   
> **MISTY:** ( _impressed_ ) Girl's an animal.

Danielle crouches down, observing some shifts in the grass, places where weight had been laid down in the past. The trail leads, pretty clearly, in the direction of the back fence. She's already on her way, following the path, as Misty attempts to drop herself to the ground without rolling her ankle.

She's up and over the wooden picket fence, ignoring the calls for her to wait up.

>   
> **DANIELLE (v.d.):** I got this hunch. I don't know what else you'd call it. One second, I'm tracking down a runaway girl. The next, that panic mode is instigated and I can't help but think there's a lot more at play here than anybody's letting on.

By the time Misty reaches her, Danielle is almost on the ground, feeling around for something. Anything.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** The trail's cold. Totally cold. She vanished, far as I can tell. There's - there's other footsteps, but——

>   
> **MISTY:** But this is somebody's back yard.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** Yeah, but——

Her ears prick. She straightens up, turning around just in time to see the faintest of light flickers in the distance, coming from the young girl's room, some two houses away from where they stood. A shadowy figure, one she instantly recognizes as the girl's father, MR. PULLMAN, and she sets off running.

A bullet hits the ground where Dani had just been standing.

Misty reacts quickly enough, drawing her own gun in one hand, and her radio in the other. She beckons for the camera crew some ten feet away to run, and the footage becomes shaky as she chase after Danielle, trying to avoid getting caught. One camerawoman stays behind, back against the fence, watching Misty as she aims her barrel around in the empty, dark lot.

>   
> **MISTY:** Moonstar, you better know what you're doing, or so help me——

The walkie crackles, but the answer is immediate.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** Julie was running away.

Another burst of gunfire, and Misty points her gun - and her bionic hand - in the direction it came from. Her eyes scan the field, looking for movement, but it's like being targeted by a sniper: no matter how eagle-eyed she thinks she is, she can't make out a ghost.

>   
> **MISTY:** But?

>   
> **DANIELLE:** But somebody was out to make sure she didn't get very far.

  
& & &

  
 **PULLMAN RESIDENCE,**  
 **BRONX, NEW YORK. 8:01 PM.**

>   
> **MISTY:** Do us all a favour and tell us the truth.

The Pullman family - both MR. And MRS. - are sitting on the couch, their living room spacious and brightly lit. They both appear to be confused, but it is a facade that is quickly being broken.

>   
> **MR. PULLMAN:** I don't - we don't know what you're talking about.

As angry as Misty Knight is, the wrath of Danielle Moonstar makes it pale in comparison.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** Do you know how many times I've seen it? Parents, too afraid to deal with their own damn problems, their kids' mutation, totally unwilling to own up to the fact that, yeah, it might be your fault, not theirs, that they turned out that way? How many parents that think the best course of action is locking them away in an ivory tower, hoping that - that...

>   
> **MISTY:** Moonstar——

She swallows back a lump in her throat.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** You sold out your own daughter.

Stoic Mr. Pullman shook his head, but his wife hides her face. She's nodding. Neither Misty nor Dani speak until she finds a way to compose herself, to work through the spittle and the crying and the sobs.

>   
> **MRS. PULLMAN:** Their job was to make sure she didn't run away. She - she was always sneaking out, we knew that, but after the... after the fight we had, we were worried. We didn't know what else to do.

With the full story given, there was no use for him to lie anymore.

>   
> **MR. PULLMAN:** I'd seen their ad in the paper. That they would help track down runaways. Reunite them with their families. So I - I put her name on the watch list. Gave them her phone number so they could——

>   
> **DANIELLE:** Trace her? Abduct her?

>   
> **MR. PULLMAN** : I was trying to keep my daughter safe!

There is a long silence that follows, the weight of the statement impacting each person in the room. TOM, Misty's assistant, shakes his head in the corner.

>   
> **MRS. PULLMAN:** We didn't want her getting hurt. Or hurting herself. They said - they swore - she would be brought straight home when they found her, should she run. The tracker in her phone would lead them in her direction, and she would be brought to the front door.

>   
> **MR. PULLMAN:** That was——

>   
> **MRS. PULLMAN:** Almost twenty-four hours ago.

Though her rage has hardly subsided, Dani Moonstar allows herself a moment of composure, looking in Misty's direction. The two hold a silent mental conversation, the words obvious enough to remain unspoken.

>   
> **MISTY:** We need to see that ad.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** And anything they gave you. Address. Phone numbers. Anything that leaves a paper trail.

When nobody reacts immediately, Danielle's rage pops through.

>   
> **DANIELLE:** Now!

Mrs. Pullman snaps to her feet and scurries to the kitchen. Mr. Pullman is more leisurely, but it is not a speed that betrays anything. The guilt, the fear, the sheer terrors, is all clear in his eyes. He wants his daughter back, and both women can sympathize with that.

>   
> **MISTY (v.d.):** You asked me why I do this. Why I helped found the Heroes for Hire in the first place. Why I risk life and limb to help people. You wanted to know why a person becomes a hero. It's simple. Same reason I became a cop, why I went to the academy.

Slowly, all the required information is assembled. They take turns sharing thoughts, pouring over a dozen sheets: names, business cards, nothing that gives away the true identity of what they're searching for. It feels almost like a dead end, except a dead end would mean they didn't have a hope in hell.

They had a bit more than that.

Finally, Misty nods, setting down the last leaf of paper atop the pile. The business name and company logo appears in the top left corner of the letterhead: HILLSIDE INVESTIGATIONS: YOUR SAFETY GUARANTEED. Arms folding over her chest, Misty tilts her head in Tom's direction.

>   
> **MISTY:** We're gonna need you for this one, kid.

  
He grins.

>   
> **TOM:** You can count on me, boss.

>   
> **MISTY (v.d., cont.):** I became a cop to help people help themselves. Find the runts of society, the ones that everyone looks down on and ignores. The people who are denied basic human rights because they're born with certain parts, or a certain skin colour, or they don't fit the mold of what people want to describe as normal. I want to fight for justice. I want to do good. I became a hero because I wanted to be a hero. Glory, honour, pride, faith, all of those things come along with it, but you don't get into the game for self-gratification. You get in the game because there's no other, no better, path.

They stand from their seats, and Misty offers her hand to Mr. Pullman.

>   
> **MISTY:** We're going to have to renegotiate our initial fees, Mr. Pullman. I'll have somebody call you when we're done.

>   
> **MR. PULLMAN:** ( _nodding_ ) Of course. Just - please. Please bring Julie home.

Misty gives him a sombre smile, but returns the nod.

>   
> **MISTY (v.d., cont.):** And the money. _(she laughs to herself, shifting in the diary chair, hiding her mouth behind her hands_ ) The money certainly doesn't hurt.

  
& & &

**HEROES FOR HIRE HQ,**  
 **WEST HARLEM, NEW YORK, 11:58PM.**

Somehow the building seems less scary at night, when nobody's there to see it. The floor creaks without feet to tread over it, the windows reflect light scattered into twenty different directions. It's almost serene.

Almost.

The only souls still in the office is a small contingent of the camera crew, Misty and Danielle having gone to their respective homes for a brief chance at sleep before the early morning call. They're slowly making their way into the small editing room they've set up in one corner of the building, looking over the day's footage on the small view finder on the hand-held camcorder that had caught Misty's altercation with the shooters in bushes.

>   
> **CAMERAMAN #1:** I still can't believe Stella stuck 'round. She's got more nerve than me.

>   
> **CAMERAMAN #2:** She wants tomorrow off. Don't blame her. Dan said she could have the whole week if she wanted.

>   
> **CAMERAMAN #1:** For real, I——

He's promptly cut off by the door quickly slamming open, the wind becoming apparent all of the sudden. They both laugh, nervous, and go back to their editing. One of them stands. A few papers scatter, littering the ground, as the breeze carries them off the desk. Again, they're left staring at one another, trying to figure out what's going on. 

To their left, a green-grey blur comes quickly into focus. Tom, Misty's personal assistant, stands at his desk, too distracted to notice they're still there. A long pause, a heavy silence, then he freezes. Slowly, TOMMY SHEPHERD turns his head around.

Like a deer in headlights, his eyes widen and he starts trying to come up with an excuse. None come to him.

>   
> **TOMMY:** ——Goddamnit.


End file.
